


lay me down tonight in my diamonds and pearls

by erlkoenig



Series: Kink Bingo [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, and two husbands roleplay their former lives and simpler times, in which power dynamics shift with enthusiastic consent, kink bingo, pointedly ignoring the slow march of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/pseuds/erlkoenig
Summary: Here they are Balan and Nom; here, he does not have to carry the weight of an entire people





	lay me down tonight in my diamonds and pearls

He is  Findaráto among his people. King of Nargothrond, dripping in jewels, sheer silks, moving like an ocean tide and ever restless. Gone is the wild elf from the forest, this sovereign rules, iron wrapped in velvet, stern and gentle.

Balan watches him, every movement; a simple gesture, a raise of his hand and the room quiets, all eyes on him. He speaks soft and yet it carries, echoes, and his people do not simply hear but  _ listen _ . Each word like a gavel on stone, final in its clanging punctuation. He speaks, they obey.

Tempered, metered, reserved. Cautious. This is an elf who walked across the Grinding Ice -- and oh, how Balan’s eyes scan the room, looking for that same haunted look he has seen on Findaráto’s face, that says  _ I survived.  _ He knows that, reasonably, most -- if not all -- made that perilous journey with him and yet he puffs his own chest, swelling with pride.  _ This is a king,  _ he thinks.

And oh, how he knows the weight of that crown. A chief he was, a title that once might have made him a braggart. But all the same, he knows the weight of it, knowing that the survival of his people rest on him. When the masses turn away, return to their lives, their livelihoods knowing that they are safe in the hands of their king, how Findaráto’s shoulders slump, so slight as not to notice but Balan sees, he feels it like a distant echo, a half-forgotten ache.

Here he is  B ëor, vassal. He had asked for it, would have begged if he’d had to.  He knew the day would come and yet, when Findaráto’s eyes turned to home, to Nargothrond, ice had gripped his heart, his lungs. Findaráto -- Nom, he was Nom -- had never been one for showy displays, and so it had been in their now shared tent.

(and oh, how Balan had once treasured his solitude)

_ “Let me come with you when you go.” _

_ Nom had touched his face so soft, so sweet. “I could never ask, your place is here with your people.” _

_ Balan turned his face to that hand, kissed his palm. “I have sons, they are capable, strong men. They will do right by my people.” _

And now his place is here, by his lord’s side. A taste acquired quickly, there when summoned, when needed. Little things, incidental things, sometimes things that Findaráto hardly knew he needed.

Ah,  _ those. _

In their shared chambers there are no titles, no lace and frills. Here they are Balan and Nom. Out there, among his people, he is king, Findaráto of Nargothrond, house of Arafinw ë.

Balan lights the candles near the bed, strips down to tunic and breeches and waits for the sound of footsteps down the stone hallway. He does not have to wait long. The door opens like a whisper and Nom slips in, circlet in his hand already and discarded thoughtlessly on the first piece of furniture he passes.

Here they are Balan and Nom; here, he does not have to carry the weight of an entire people.

(and which  _ he  _ he means, he does not know)

“Come here.” Balan says softly, a command, and Nom follows, half falls into his arms and he winds them around him. Tallest of his own people, he comes to Nom’s collarbones and yet here they are. Here are the roles they have all the same for it.

Here, Balan can carry some of that weight.

He pushes, and Nom follows, willing, pliant against his hands, back, back towards the bed. 

“Strip.” It’s a harsh word, a rumble of sound, and Nom’s lips part and his fingers go for the intricate golden clasps. A rustle of silk and it falls to the floor like a sigh, or maybe that was Nom, something sweet from between teeth and Balan is upon him. Hands everywhere, touching, feeling, shoulders and arms, sides, the muscle underneath, hipbones and then fingertips skirting up his back. Appraising, and oh he could never find a flaw here but he searches all the same. He knows him now, knows him well, flesh and bone and sinew. Praising him with his palms and looking for anything that might give away some new care, some new trouble on his lord’s mind. A knot of muscle, and the pads of his fingers press in, drawing out a hiss. 

“Bed.” Another demand, a grunt of a word and Nom blinks, chest rising and falling as another sigh escapes him and he measures the sound.  _ Pleased _ , and he arches an eyebrow, lets a smirk pull the corner up his mouth upwards and watches as Nom takes another step back, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress before falling into it. The candlelight catches on the glimmer of gold at Nom’s throat, the sparkle of gemstones studded up his pointed ears and oh, Balan lives for this.

Out there Nom is king, he iis in control, but here --

Here Balan snaps his fingers and Nom settles against the pillows, letting his legs fall apart. Here Nom watches him through half-lidded eyes as Balan moves onto the bed, feels it dip under his weight and shivers with anticipation.

Here they simply  _ are. _ Here they can pretend they have eternity.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> moringottos.tumblr.com


End file.
